


a treatise on the fairness of love and war

by sludgeraptor



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, and also fe8 spoilers on that note. if anyone. cares, tana is also here but it feels wrong to tag her when its just one scene, the game came out in 2004, two boys who absolutely SUCK at emotions !!!!, uhh ephraim/lyon is... implied... i guess.. but never super touched on, well. rivals to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sludgeraptor/pseuds/sludgeraptor
Summary: The earth revolves around the sun, eternally pulling for his attention.





	a treatise on the fairness of love and war

**Author's Note:**

> god ive wanted to write for them for ages they are my #1 from sacred stones i ADORE them. their relationship is a car crash in slow motion and i am enraptured for every second.  
> if the order of events is at all off here just pretend it's an AU it's been like a year since i played fe8 it's fine.  
> thank you to cocoa arazuta for beta reading you are my love my angle my perfect spouse!!!!!!

Ephraim wins at fencing, but Innes wins at sharpshooting.

That’s the first thing that always comes to mind with Ephraim. He’s all strength, captivating in his single-mindedness, and somehow his style often outshines Innes’ more refined, strategic moves when it comes to swordplay. When it came time to something that required patience — that required, Innes would argue, real skill — Ephraim flails.

He flails at patience off of the field, too, which is clearly evidenced by the way he’s currently scanning the camp for something to do.

Innes watches the way he shifts, muscles hidden by armour so scratched up you’d think it belonged to a peasant if it weren’t for the intricate designs etched into its surface, scuffed though they are. He waits patiently. It’s always only a matter of time until Ephraim catches Innes’ gaze and sparks fly between them anew.

And it’s not long at all until Ephraim stops pretending to ignore Innes, walking over to him with a purposeful stride. Innes smirks. He turns to go, leading the way to the practice tent.

Ephraim wins at fencing, but Innes wins at sharpshooting.

***

Innes wipes down his arrows, making sure they’re clean and dry. It’s the sort of little ritual he refuses to let anyone else do, lest they screw up how he likes things. Simple. Efficient. And after so much socialisation on the march, a nice break from giving orders.

Innes doesn’t look up when he hears someone enter the weapons tent.

“You’re busy,” Ephraim comments idly, and Innes isn’t sure if it’s mocking or not. He looks up, narrowing his eyes at his hated rival (who’s just as scruffy as usual — didn’t Ephraim care at all about decorum?).

“As you should be,” Innes agrees, starting to wax his bow. “Just here to observe while someone does real work, I imagine?”

“My life doesn’t revolve around you, Innes.”

“That isn’t what I was saying, and you know it.”

“Is this the part where you say I’m fond of misinterpreting you?” Ephraim asks, and though his expression is as flat as ever, Innes can sense that mocking edge. He can fucking taste it.

“I would never be so predictable,” Innes replies, raising his chin a little.

“Ah, but I knew you’d say something like that,” Ephraim says with a smile so subtle that most people would probably overlook it. But Innes pays great attention to Ephraim’s every move and recognises the challenge for what it is.

“Why are you here, Ephraim?" he asks, turning back to his bow. He’s furious that he can’t think of a proper response in time.

“I wanted to challenge you again, but I can see you’re packing up for the night,” Ephraim says. “So it can wait.”

“No,” Innes blurts before his mind even really has time to process what Ephraim is suggesting. “No,” he repeats, standing up. “We can. We’ll just have to skip out on the bows.”

Ephraim lights up, imperceptible smile getting quite a bit more perceptible. “Good, then. I’ll meet you on the practice range.”

It takes until Ephraim has left the tent for Innes to realise he’s been played.

***

“Brother,” Tana whines, “stop taking all of Ephraim’s attention!”

Innes gives her a dubious look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Every time you commandeer Ephraim for the day, he won’t even look at me!” she complains, swatting at Innes. He leans away, resisting the urge to get into a slap fight with her. (It’s very, very hard.) “He’s so busy talking about you that he doesn’t notice I exist! So go bother someone else for once!”

“Tana, stop- quit that,” Innes snaps, grabbing her wrist and huffing. “You’re a grown adult. Stop acting like a child. If you want Ephraim’s attention, go get it. I’m not stopping you.”

“Even when I talk to him, all he does is talk about you! I’m banning you from Ephraim. You’re not allowed any more,” Tana insists. She swats out with her other hand, making Innes curse and drop her wrist.

“That’s not my issue,” Innes insists. He isn’t sure why what she’s saying makes his chest feel funny, so he shoves any wayward emotions aside. “Don’t come whining to me about it. Complain to him.”

“You’re so mean!” Tana whines, grabbing Innes’ shoulder and shaking him as Innes stares forward impassively. He’s exhausted. “Why do you always have to be so mean?”

“I’m going now,” he says, struggling out of her grip and turning away.

“Fine! You jerk!” Tana calls as he leaves. Innes sighs, flipping his hair.

...Ephraim talks about him a lot, huh? That’s...

“Probably just angry I beat him so often,” Innes mutters to himself.

Why isn’t the idea as satisfying as it ought to be?

***

“You’re sluggish today, Ephraim,” Innes criticises.

Ephraim glances at Innes, whole body drooping. That’s a bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but Innes pays great attention to Ephraim’s every move, and he recognises the fatigue for what it is.

“The mass grave,” Ephraim sighs. “At the last town we visited. I had to visit it. Had to assure the people all of this isn’t for nothing.”

Innes stares at him for a moment as he turns away, slumping.

“It’s not for nothing,” Innes assures. When Ephraim doesn’t reply, he repeats more emphatically, “It’s  _ not  _ for nothing.”

His mind wanders to the people who he failed, the ones who died under his command. He swallows the bile that rises in his throat.

“I don’t understand how Lyon could be doing this,” Ephraim says, not seeming to realise the tremble in Innes’ fingers, the tension in his body. But Ephraim has never paid as much attention to Innes, not in the same way Innes pays attention to him. The thought makes Innes’ chest tight and his stomach flip for reasons he can’t pinpoint.

“He’s a spoilt brat,” Innes snaps, though he isn’t sure why. Sure, he never liked Lyon that much, but he never hated him, either. “Lashing out at everyone because he can’t get the things he wants on command. Look at what he’s done with his immaturity.”

The look Ephraim gives Innes is an expression Innes has never seen on his face before. It’s perfectly tragic. Wide, glassy eyes and slightly parted lips — the threat of tears, of a sob, of furious words. Innes steels himself, but...

“...Don’t talk about him like that,” is all Ephraim says. It’s a plea. It’s pathetic. “He’s a good man. Something is wrong now, but he’s a good man. I know it.”

That undying loyalty to someone else sets Innes’ stomach flipping at double speed and adds a good dose of fire to the tightness in his chest. He looks aside.

“Tell that to the ones in the graves.”

Ephraim doesn’t protest as Innes walks away. Doesn’t seem to notice the way Innes digs his nails into his palms and curses himself out, the way he’s stretched taut like a bow about to snap in two. A bow pulled is a bow 7/8ths broken, as they say.

Not that Ephraim would know. Ephraim never did pay attention to Innes the way Innes paid attention to Ephraim.

***

Despite the argument, Ephraim comes back to him the next day with a challenge.

It’s so banal as to be shocking, but Innes doesn’t resist. He allows Ephraim to entangle him in his nonsense, as always. One day he’ll learn.

They tie again, never quite able to eke out an edge over the other. And then they sit in silence, catching their breath, ignoring what isn’t comfortable and normal.

And because Innes pays attention to Ephraim, he notices the slump of his shoulders, the way his breath comes more shallow than usual. Guilt twinges at him and he swallows, looking away.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. “Yesterday,” he adds, as if there could be any other time that he said something so hurtful it needed an apology he would actually give.

“You were right,” Ephraim dismisses.

Usually, that would make Innes feel the kind of smug satisfaction he’s constantly seeking. Today, it makes him scowl. “What?”

“You were right. Lyon is doing bad things. So I have to stop him,” Ephraim elaborates. Determination is written all over his face.

“You talk like you’re going to do it alone,” Innes scoffs.

Ephraim says nothing.

“You’re a stuck-up prick,” Innes says, turning aside to glare. “It’s unbelievable.”

“He’s my friend. If anyone can save him, it’s me,” Ephraim insists.

“Your other friends can help you,” Innes snaps, gritting his teeth.

“What,” Ephraim says, “like you?”

It’s Innes’ turn to say nothing.

“It’s my job,” Ephraim continues. “And of course I’ll have help. But it’s something I have to do.”

Innes continues to stare off into the distance, furious for reasons he can’t quite describe. Ephraim waits a few more moments for a reply before he stands up, leaving Innes behind. Innes watches him go, wonders if Ephraim notices how Innes burns with hatred and envy and something he can never name (if not for lack of knowledge, for fear), wonders if Ephraim notices anything about Innes at all.

***

“You haven’t been eating.”

“Thank you, father,” Innes mocks, ignoring the way Ephraim hovers behind him.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Why do you care what I do or don’t do?” Innes asks, turning to give Ephraim an annoyed look.

Ephraim’s expression is, even for Innes, unreadable. “You’re one of my comrades. Of course I care if you’re healthy or not.”

“That’s news to me. It’s never been a bother to you before,” Innes points out. Ephraim is unfortunately right, so he does resolve to get some rations the second the other isn’t looking, but it’s the principle of the thing. Even if he’s not sure what that principle may be.

“Maybe I’m getting more conscientious,” Ephraim says vaguely, mussing up his hair. His eternally scruffy teal mop. Innes wants to reach over and fix it, but that’d be too much even for him.

“Doubtful.” Innes tucks stray hair behind his ear. He wonders idly if Ephraim notices how clean and neat it is. He wonders idly if Ephraim envies that.

“Still. You should eat,” Ephraim insists.

“I will. But not on your command,” Innes returns.

Ephraim's eyes light up at the possibility of a fight. “Do I have to force-feed you?”

“Try it and die,” Innes warns, taking a half-step back from Ephraim as though the threat holds serious weight. With all the ridiculous things Ephraim has done over the years, it may well.

“Alright, alright,” Ephraim huffs, amused. “So long as you take care of yourself. You’re our best archer, you know.”

Innes’ chest flutters with that unbearable lightness. He crushes it down, pushing it back deep into the earth where it belongs. “I know I am,” he says, flipping his hair.

The second Ephraim is busy with something else, Innes eats a double portion. He even manages to convince himself it was his idea.

***

Every day the fight grows harder and every day Innes grows more tired.

And he notices that that slump in Ephraim’s shoulders grows more and more pronounced with every march, every razed village littered with corpses they see. He wonders if Ephraim notices the tremble in his fingers and the stiffness of his gait. He wonders if Ephraim notices anything but himself and Eirika and Lyon.

Their challenges taper off into nothingness, a comforting ritual abandoned thanks to their duties as princes. Innes misses it more than he thought he would, and not just for the sake of training. He misses Ephraim’s stupid boasts and his stupid impulsive moves and his stupid everything. He misses Ephraim. The realisation is a smack to the face. He tries to ignore it, focus on himself and his duties first, but it won’t disappear.

Him. Missing Ephraim.

How absolutely repulsive.

And Ephraim acts oddly around him now, too, always alternating between hovering and keeping a safe distance. It pisses Innes off. (What doesn’t?)

The next time Ephraim comes over to him, clearly about to do something doting (a word that Innes never thought he would ever apply to Ephraim), Innes snaps, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Ephraim asks with wide eyes.

“Stop coming here just to bother me. It’s getting annoying. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Innes has never seen Ephraim look so positively bewildered in his life. 

“Am I doing that?” Ephraim asks. “I didn’t think I was talking to you  _ that _ much…”  

“You keep coming over to me just to  _ check _ on me,” Innes spits, and he’s sure that’s the first time anyone has ever been so furious about something so benign. “I’m sick of it. I’m a grown man. Focus on someone who needs the attention, like Neimi. She’s even an archer, if that helps.”

Ephraim’s baffled expression makes Innes feel smug. Throwing Ephraim for a loop is always more satisfying than most people would say it ought to be. 

“Alright,” Ephraim agrees after a conspicuous pause. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He turns on his heels to leave Innes, and the way he droops is so pronounced that even the most casual observer could notice it now. Despite himself, Innes feels worried.

He crushes the feeling. Ephraim can handle himself. 

If Innes is asking for Ephraim to trust in his abilities, Innes should do the same for Ephraim, right?

He tosses and turns that night, and he can’t tell if it’s the omnipresent feeling of death or the unbearable tightness in his chest.

***

Another sacred stone is lost. Eirika won’t look anybody in the eye for days.

Innes wonders, not for the first time, what Ephraim ever saw in a man like Lyon.

***

It’s about a week until Ephraim approaches Innes again.

Innes is unstringing his bow for the night when Ephraim enters the weapons tent. He doesn’t acknowledge Innes, which Innes hates and appreciates in equal measure. He sits away from Innes and starts cleaning his lance. As Ephraim washes away the blood, the smell of it wafts through the tent. Innes feels like he should tense up. Like he should hate it. But it’s so frequent now as to be numbing.

“I wasn’t trying to condescend to you,” Ephraim says finally, wringing out the bloody cloth he’s using to clean. “I was worried.”

“I want to know why you were ‘worried’ so suddenly,” Innes presses. 

There’s a tense moment of silence. Innes glares at his bow, finishing unstringing it. As he stands up to hang it up, Ephraim says, “You remind me of him sometimes.”

It takes a moment for Innes to catch Ephraim’s meaning. “What do you mean, I remind you of him?” Innes asks, throat dry.

“No, I-” Ephraim grimaces slightly, the kind only Innes would notice. “I don’t mean anything bad. I mean that sometimes I worry...That if I were to leave a friend alone again, the same thing would happen.”

Innes stares at Ephraim with wide eyes, slightly parted lips.

“I won’t ever do that to you,” he says, quiet, too quiet. His fingers tremble, his heart races. It shouldn’t feel so strange to admit that. It shouldn’t feel like a confession.

“I know,” Ephraim says, just as quiet, just as soft. And there’s this feeling in the air, this unbearable, dissatisfying lightness, something Innes fears to name. 

He lets out a shaky breath and turns away, putting his bow up and immediately leaving the tent. He digs his nails into his palms, grinds his teeth together. He made a careless misstep somewhere along the way, and he knows exactly where. When you bury things in the earth, they have a habit of growing.

***

They don’t talk anything outside of strategy for days. Too long. The Demon King is getting closer and closer, their battles harder and harder. And Innes hates that he wishes he could talk to Ephraim again, hear his stupid boasts, clash with him until they both pass out from the exhaustion. He wants to clean weapons with Ephraim, wants to pretend this is normal, pretend everything is like it used to be. He wants to graze his fingers against the back of Ephraim’s hand and feel his ribcage constrict, his breath catch. So little, and yet so much at the same time. He wants  _ Ephraim _ , completely, entirely, utterly. And it’s foolish and it’s immature and it’s not what he’s meant to do as a king. He needs to settle down with a nice woman and have an heir and be renowned for his wisdom and his strength. 

It wouldn’t be the same with Ephraim. It’d break protocol.

And yet…

_ No _ , he tells himself.  _ This is the sort of confusion every young adult faces. I’m simply not used to having such a worthy rival. _

His determination shines though; he manages to convince himself it’s true.

***

Ephraim approaches him after dinner, sits next to him. It’s the first time they’ve met outside of the strategy tent or the weapons tent in what feels like eons, and considering Innes purposefully sat far outside of the camp for some solitude, Innes isn’t sure if it’s welcome or not. Innes says nothing and Ephraim says nothing either. They sit in a silence that is both tense and comfortable.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ephraim begins, “about what to do after the war.”

Innes nods. “As have I.”

“I’m going to be king,” Ephraim says, and even though Innes isn’t looking he can sense the grimace. 

“Gods help Renais,” Innes replies flatly. 

“Come now, Innes,” Ephraim sighs. He sounds so genuinely exhausted that Innes shuts up for once, nodding slightly.

“I’ve been thinking about being king without someone on the throne with me. I’m no good with decorum, and Eirika can’t do everything for me. Still, I want to do it,” Ephraim continues, mussing up his hair. 

“Then take a wife,” Innes suggests. “You’re popular enough. Any woman would fall over herself for you.”

Ephraim glances at Innes, expression implacable. “That’s the thing.”

“What is?”

“I don’t think I want a wife.”

Innes shrugs. “You’ll have advisors.”

“No, Innes,” Ephraim says, more emphatic, “I mean I don’t think I’ll ever want a wife.”

Innes furrows his brow. 

“You were always a free spirit?” he offers.

Ephraim sighs again, more deeply this time. “I mean I want a husband.”

Ah.

Innes’ heart does an embarrassing shimmy in his chest as he allows himself to hope. It’s far too late to suppress this now, to pretend it’s just adolescent foolishness. He forces out, “Why are you telling me this?” 

Ephraim smirks at Innes and the embarrassing shimmy becomes a full-on ballroom dance. That stupid bastard. Innes flushes. 

“Now why the hell would you assume I would say yes?” he asks, looking away. He wishes his face wasn’t burning.

“I don’t pick fights I’m going to lose, Innes,” is Ephraim’s frustrating reply, everything about him is so fucking frustrating. Innes hates that he’s endeared.

“You shouldn’t assume such things about me. For all you know, I’m interested in Eirika,” Innes insists, stubborn.

“You’re not,” Ephraim laughs, he actually fucking  _ laughs _ . Innes is on fire for more than one reason. Ugh.

“It’s far too nontraditional! We have to think of our kingdoms first!”

“There’s nobody better suited to helping me rule Renais than you, Innes. You always paid so much more attention to becoming a good prince than I did. And you’d make a better king of Renais than I ever could,” Ephraim insists right back.

“What if the people-”

“They’ll get over it.”

“Tana hasn’t been learning to be queen,” Innes persists. 

“Your father is still alive,” Ephraim argues. “She can start learning now. Better late than never, right?”

Innes scoffs. “You’re far too bold. This is how you get into so many dangerous situations.”

“I’d feel better with you around to help me get out of them,” Ephraim smiles, scooting closer. Their thighs touch. Innes’ chest constricts, breath hitches.

“...Did you notice, then?” Innes asks, hesitant. 

“Notice what?”

“The way I tense around you. I thought I was just confused.”

Ephraim’s smile widens. “Innes, I notice everything about you.”

He may faint. Innes lets out a shaky breath. 

“Alright,” he says, and Ephraim perks up, so Innes shoots him a caustic look. “Alright. If we survive, I will consider your marriage proposal more seriously.”

Ephraim laughs softly. “Cold as ever, Innes.”

“You bring it out in me.”

“I like it,” Ephraim says, and he wraps an arm around Innes’ waist, pulls them close together. “I like everything about you. Always have.”

The kiss is not like books led him to believe. It is soft and patient and warm. It is sunlight, and Innes is captured in it, blinded by Ephraim’s radiance. He kisses back, steady, grounded. 

They only break the kiss when they hear the sound of someone approaching. Innes’ lips tingle, and his chest flutters. The lightness is bearable, now.

***

“What a pain,” Innes says, adjusting Ephraim’s collar. “You ignored all the stylist’s advice, just as I knew you would.”

“I wanted your opinion,” Ephraim replies, with that stupid subtle smile of his. The one he reserves for Innes.

“My opinion is you should listen to the stylist,” Innes says. “You’re going to be the king now. You have to care about these things.”

“ _ We’ll _ be kings,” Ephraim corrects.

“And yet you’ll still have responsibilities,” Innes corrects his correction. “So stubborn.”

“Darling, it’s our wedding day,” Ephraim laughs. He laughs a lot around Innes, now. “Can you at least be kindly to me now?”

“This  _ is _ kindly,” Innes argues. He stops fiddling with Ephraim’s outfit, pauses to look at them both in the mirror. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Ephraim says, voice dripping affection. Innes flushes.

“As are you. Somehow,” Innes says, reaching up to fix Ephraim’s hair. “I need to get back to my proper place.”

“So soon?” Ephraim pouts, exaggerated. Innes rolls his eyes.

“You’ll see me on the aisle,” Innes replies, smoothing down Ephraim’s collar one last time. “Listen to the stylist,” he orders, flicking Ephraim’s forehead. Ephraim snorts.

“I’ll see you in a minute, then,” Ephraim says, leaning down to give Innes a quick kiss. “Go finish getting ready.”

Innes nods. Part of him wants to ignore responsibility and stay by Ephraim’s side until he’s dragged away, but he doesn’t. He leaves. 

As he marches down the hallway, the windows filter light in. The sunlight bathes Innes, warming him. A perfect day for a wedding. The flowers outside reach up to the heavens, and Innes almost pities them. Unlike Innes, no matter how hard they strove, they would never, ever hold the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> if u ever wanna talk to me about gay emblems hmu @ feradiantdawn on tumblr, or check out @ sludgeraptor for my art!  
> sacred stones is my fave fe game forever and i will be thinking about it on my deathbed probably. wrote half of this while studying for a german test and half of this while sick as a dog so please forgive any foolish errors


End file.
